


Our Baby

by VampireHorse



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Multi, Sex Toys, Swearing, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22814731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireHorse/pseuds/VampireHorse
Summary: - How could I have killed him? He's so cute, - Rick pushed the kid in the back, forcing him to come closer to Chemist. - Come on, sweetie. Come on, give your new Rick a smile!- The new...?Morty's lips were shaking so that no smile was ever gonna happen.- Yeah, yeah, - Punk patted him on the shoulder. - Be glad, you don't have Rick, do you?- N-N-No...- So now there'll be two of them! Isn't that great?!
Kudos: 4





	1. Charter 1. Dumster diving as not a choice

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Наша детка](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/561025) by VampireHorse. 



> Hello! I am an author from Russia and I'm trying to translate my own work in English just for fun. I hope you're like it!

Clouds of lilac smoke with a caustic scent flew out because of the open door.  
Rick tiredly sighed out of them, like a genie from a fucking lamp, slapping his palm in the face.  
It was dark in the living room, but the TV was shimmering. Empty boxes of pizza and Chinese noodles, beer cans and bottles were lying on the floor, a blanket hung from the disassembled sofa, and a neighbor's leg that barely moved when he saw it.  
\- W-what, are you done with your work, weirdo? - hoarsely he asked, scratching the grown bristles on his chin.  
When he saw the dried sauce stains on his T-shirt, Rick almost burst into swearing  
\- How long you gonna be lying around? - He was irritably interested by kicking a bottle under his foot. - All you can do is breed the shit... I wonder how you haven't pissed on yourself yet!  
\- Fuck off, - that jerk's demonstratively turned up the TV volume. - I have a creative с-crisis...  
\- Yeah, yeah, - he rolled his eyes. - I know your creative crises, Punk... You're just a lazуass!  
\- What about you? - went neighbor on the attack, switching channels. - You don't fucking do anything yourself, when was the last time you got out of your lab?  
\- At least I'm inventing something...  
But to be honest, Punk was right - they both, like any Rick, couldn't stand the lowlife and they both, like total assholes, tried to throw it on someone else's shoulders.  
That's why they had a dead end!  
\- You know what? - suddenly the other Rick came off the screen, looking at him with an unusual seriousness.  
\- What?  
\- I think we need some Morty...

***

Their life together went somewhere in the fucking trainwreck direction long ago.  
Constant quarrels, lack of money, Punk had been sleeping in the living room for a month, and only now, having developed a new product, a bad neighbor was able to push him out of the house to meet a client.  
\- Is the shit pure?  
\- It can't be purer, bro, - Punk smiled at all thirty-two.  
For once clean, shaved and well-dressed, sparkling with new rings in his ears, nose, and eyebrow, he thought it would all go right.  
In a way, for him personally, it did.  
After all, handing the client a weighty bag of lilac powder, he did not expect to notice how two so much curious eyes watching him from the trash can...  
\- Meet, this is our new Morty!  
Under Chemist's gaze, the boy's shrinked, ready to wet his pants in for fear.  
\- _This?_ \- with a contemptuous look on his face, he asked again. - Where did you dig _this_ up?  
\- In the dumpster, - said Punk, shining with pride. - He saw me selling your shit... Yeah, he's a bit shabby, but if we clean him up, it's nothing, is it?  
But, contrary to his optimistic mood, the second Sanchez is went blacker than the thunder cloud.  
\- If he saw the sale of a "liver explosion," you should have killed him on the spot, - he said with a frowned brow. - Why the fuck did you bring him here?  
\- How could I have killed him? He's so cute, - Rick pushed the kid in the back, forcing him to come closer to Chemist. - Come on, sweetie. Come on, give your new Rick a smile!  
\- The new...?  
Morty's lips were shaking so that no smile was ever gonna happen.  
\- Yeah, yeah, - Punk patted him on the shoulder. - Be glad, you don't have Rick, do you?  
\- N-N-No...  
\- So now there'll be two of them! Isn't that great?!  
But the little asshole didn't appreciate the gift of fate, looking around with a pissed-off look.  
\- And if... - he's got his dirty hands on his chest. - If I don't want to...?  
The Punk exploded with a sincere laugh, and even the Chemist let himself be sprayed in his fist.  
\- Oh, hilarious... - even had to shake a tear off his eye. - I already like this M-morty, he says such funny nonsense! Stop it, Rick, don't be cocky! Let's keep him, shall we? Come on, come on!  
The Chemist turned his back for a second, all crooked up.  
\- Couldn't find anything better? - He asked angrily, pressing two fingers on this Morty's hollow cheeks and making him turn his head in different directions. - Halfdead, skinny, and stinking for a fucking mile, just... just some rat!  
\- Come on, - Punk gently released a frightened boy from the hands of a bad neighbor. - It's a pretty little Ratty at most, and he just needs a little care... And then he'll be our new Morty. Can you imagine the benefits he'll bring?!  
\- What's that he gonna do? - The Chemist was skeptical about it, putting his hands on his chest.  
\- Well, let's say... Cleaning. Cooking. Reagents for you to serve, maybe even...  
And Punk whispered the rest of the phrase in that guy's ear.  
Of course, he was trying to make it look like he didn't care, but Rick had already noticed a flashing light of interest in his eyes.  
After all, any Rick likes to experience something new...  
\- Go take a bath, baby!

***

Sometimes the universe is too crazy and unpredictable.  
Dumpster digging has long been a common thing for Morty - unlike many people, freeganism has become a matter of life and death, not a choice for him.  
His position had been so disastrous for a long time, but he hadn't complained, habitually climbing into a dumpster to suddenly be pulled out of there by some crazy Rick, who dragged him after himself, ignoring screams and attempts to escape...  
What do they want, anyway?!  
Morty had no idea what a "liver explosion" was, much less any point in telling someone at Rick with a hard stare, who said he should have been killed on the spot, but no one seemed to want to let him go.  
He also didn't like the way those two whispered, looking at him strangely...  
What crazy test has the universe prepared for him?!

Rick, who wanted to kill him, entered the bathroom and, with a face that expressed pure disgust, practically threw a set of clothes in the boy's face.  
\- You put this on, anything you're wearing now, we'll throw it away, - and he put a bottle filled with pink-oxygen gel on the edge of the tub. - You'll wash yourself with this, and do it properly!  
Morty hasn't washed like a normal person in a long time.  
He'd had to warm the water in a bucket to keep himself clean, but he'd been hitting on it lately, too, and now he had to pay for it.  
Fighting with hair that had grown to the shoulder blades, which had already been knocked down in some places, turned out to be another task, the gel brought by this Rick burned strongly and tweaked, and he seemed to know his smell ...  
The smell of a chemical in a more concentrated version used for bacterial genocide.  
After hygienic procedures, something nice finally was waiting for him - Rick, who dragged him into this madhouse, put a box of bite slices of a slightly weathered pizza in front of him, and while he greedily threshed the treat, outlined his prospects.  
The prospects, to put it mildly, were unenviable - either to be shot, or to become the new Morty for these crazies, and what was he to do?  
Of course, he didn't want to stay with them at all, but dying was even less desirable.  
Still, he was clinging to life as hard as he could, even though it was shitty a lot, so he obeyed.  
That's why he, with a full stomach, washed to the creak, and walked, accompanied by Punk, into the bedroom of Chemist, who, layed on a double bed, watching "Ballfondlers" on the wall hanging television.  
\- Well, Rick, - Punk said in subtle terms, hugging Morty by the shoulders. - The baby and I came to talk you into... You'll let him stay, right?  
Suddenly he kissed the young man behind the ear and shamelessly put his palm on his ass.  
\- There's so much he wants to show you...  
_No, he fucking doesn't_ \- the blush threw Morty in his face and he tried to push the old man away with a frightened squeak.  
\- Wh-wh-what are you doing?!  
\- Wh-What is it? - to his fluttering and trying to get away with it was just a quiet laugh. - What, you don't want to be our Morty?  
Of course not - but he, not having the memory of a goldfish, hasn't forgotten what's coming to him otherwise.  
\- We're your Ricks now, - Punk exhaled, biting the skin on his neck and pulling it back a little. - And you must obey us in all...  
Even in this?!  
If anyone in the whole fucking Multiverse knows how to accept the inevitable, it's Morty, he's kind of accepted.  
And while he, shivering, red from embarrassment, was being harassed by Punk, the Chemist finally got off his TV at least a little bit.  
He peaked on them, diligently pretending he didn't care, but the further away, the more they won his attention.  
\- Would you let me...?  
There was no way out. Morty raised his hands, letting him take off his yellow T-shirt, and then the Chemist finally put in the word.  
\- Pfft, - he raised his eyes to the ceiling. - Too skinny. What a... runt!  
\- It's all right, - Punk said soothingly, walking his dry fingers through the protruding pelvic bones and slowly upwards to the ribs clearly visible under the skin. - W-We're gonna feed him well, right, Rick?

It's embarrassing to admit, but the prospect of regular feeding for a few seconds has made Morty's own fate not so terrible in his eyes.  
Then he was really impressed with his own selflessness, but his opinion here remained secondary, to say the least, so the show went on.  
Punk helped him tighten his jeans, and then, smirking, pulled down his underwear, making Morty squeak again...  
\- No, no, - Rick pushed his hands away from his own private parts and slapped him as punishment. - You don't have to close, Morty... Yeah, that's it. Hold still, baby...  
How can you stand still in this situation?!  
The legs barely held the poor boy, he had to lean on Punk with almost his whole body not to fall. He was so embarrassed, his ears were burning and his whole body was on display...  
But what happened to him?  
Morty was torn between wanting to be as far away from here as possible and something else vaguely rising from the inside.  
The Chemist turned his back off the TV, completely turning his attention to them. His cheekbones were chewing gums, and his gray and blue eyes were visibly darkened, just like Punk's...  
He thought the two of them agreed on something without saying anything.  
The hands of other Rick examined his body unceremoniously, not rudely, but leaving no chance for salvation, and it was worth admitting that it could have been worse.  
He touched Morty, surprisingly gently and neatly, riddling him with the skillful movements of his fingers, and in the end the irreparable happened.  
The first moan came off his lips absolutely by accident, and the guy was frightened to clench his palm to his mouth, but it was too late.  
With a pretty smile, Punk kissed him in the temple like he'd just won a cup at some sporting event, and only accelerated, approaching the inevitable apocalypse...  
Forcing Morty's dick up.  
He was clutching his teeth, trying not to make any sound, but the damn teenage body, filled with hormones like prepack food with carcinogens, acted against his will by reacting to the caress, and the Chemist seemed to appreciate it.  
Deafly snarling, he reached for his fly, putting out his organ - with a protruding liquid, frighteningly large, and ostentatiously jerked it.  
\- Well, maybe somebody should do it.  
There was no doubt as to who that "somebody" would be, and although everything in Morty was screaming about his complete failure in such businesses, Punk still pressed his shoulders, forcing him to kneel down.  
The uncomfortable part of the body was right in his face, but it was still wasn't all.  
\- Come on, - Punk said tenderly, stroking his furry after the bath hair. - Come on, M-morty. Ask the Chemist to let you stay...  
\- And just try to be convincing, - said the Chemist, who clearly wanted to get down to business.  
How should he ask?  
There was obviously a catch in all this, but Morty breathed in, exhaled, and accepted the rules of the game, which he hadn't fully understood yet.  
\- P-please, - he said, gazing at Chemist from the bottom up and flapping his eyelashes. - Uh, can I stay with you? I-I promise I'll be a good boy...  
\- And you're gonna do whatever we say?  
\- Everything you say...  
And Morty clutched his lips awkwardly to the pinkish-red head.  
In the end, what you wouldn't do to get yourself killed wasn't as disgusting as he had expected. It's just a little bit weird...  
However, when he dared to take his dick in mouth, he immediately choked on coughing.  
\- Gosh, - the Chemist mockingly commented, wiping the saliva from the corner of the boy's mouth. - If you were a hoe with such a skill, they wouldn't even pay for you in a restaurant...  
\- Oh, come on, - Punk put his fingers in his hair and pressed the back of his head, pushing him in the right direction. - You're too strict, Chemist, as always. Our Morty's gonna learn everything... Right, kid?  
He'd love to say what he thinks about all this, but for obvious reasons he couldn't.  
The knees from standing on the floor soon enough began to hurt, and all the effort was spent for not choking again.  
\- You see how dirty his mouth is?  
\- Dirty, - the Chemist wheezed, kicking forward. - Very, very dirty...

It was like they were both having sex through him - one was moving, the other was holding his head, setting the rhythm himself, but then Punk suddenly wanted to change the rules of the game.  
Leaving Chemist temporarily dissatisfied, he embraced Morty across his stomach, effortlessly lifting him into the air, and threw him on the bed.  
Shaking hands unbuckled his riveted belt and fly, releasing his fully erected penis, and picked the boy up under his knees, pulling him closer...  
\- W-w-wait!..  
In response to his frightened look, he only laughed quietly.  
\- Y-you think I wouldn't want to fuck your little ass? - he asks, fitting in between his divorced legs. - Yeah, you bet I would, but...  
And he started pounding Morty again, forcing him into a quiet cheekbone.  
\- But not today. That would be too much for you...  
After all that had already happened, this statement raised some questions, he did not argue, for, despite his desire to live, the moral willingness to accept something so big in the back passage was still very small.  
That is why Punk got his satisfaction just by rubbing on the inside of his thighs, and the Chemist, by sayin:  
\- Somebody had been forgotten about me, - raised Morty's head with his fingertips, walking his dick back across his lips. - Go on, bring it on, b-bitch...  
And he bring it on as far as his humble abilities were concerned.  
The first sexual experience, and with two men at once. And with the old, and also with his own grandfathers - isn't that fucking awesome?  
You know, what you wouldn't do for survival.  
Not such a high price for it - the tart taste in the mouth, an unpleasant feeling of moisture on the skin and his own scream, drowned in a mattress, along with his own liquid, splashed in someone else's palm ...  
\- Well, that's it.  
Heavily breathing, tired Chemist rubbed a guy lying around like a rag on his cheek between two Ricks.  
\- Congratulations, - he grumble as he sighed. - Now you're our fucking Morty, you little r-rat...


	2. Charter 2. Live in a hut, wipe with a leaf

The universe hates Morty Smith is an axiom.  
But sometimes, it's worth admitting, even untoward teenagers in yellow sometimes get a little luck... to take an excessive price for it.  
Scrubbing away the leftovers from the plates, Morty grimly thought about what he had done to the universe that it threw him here.  
He was just looking for his lunch, and he was enslaved to two horny psychos...

Just a few hours ago, he was foolish enough to open the bedroom door without knocking and see something there that made him, frightenedly screaming, drop his broom and close his eyes with his palm.

\- Knock, you jerk! - threw him a Chemist bending his body under jigging, like a horse, Punk, and Morty blew off those perverts like the wind...  
And now he's doing the dishes.  
Soaping and washing, drowning in endless streams of foam, it was just the sea, this dishes - Ricks was going to build Everest from dirty plates?  
\- Hey, you, - suddenly, passing by, the Chemist threw him without even looking back. - Get over here!  
The guy picked up his eyebrows in a surprised way. Then he shrugged his shoulders and knocked out the tap and wiped his hands wet to the elbows with a towel.

This place was only remotely reminiscent of Rick's usual laboratories - no scattered iron, no crates, and no space plates, only shelves on which there were marked vessels with unknown powders and liquids in perfect alphabetical order.  
Sliding the floor mat to the side with one sharp movement of his foot, the scientist opened the hatch into the cellar.  
Morty didn't even know what to expect from going down, an order to rip the heart out of some unknown creature or maybe demand help making clones, but in reality it was a little more prosaic.  
\- M-medical checking?..  
\- Exactly, - Rick snapped his glove rubber band on his wrist. - I must know who I let in my house, right?  
Well, if that's what he wants, then let him, really, Morty's health wasn't much to brag about...  
After donating an entire blood tube from his vein, he would depart lying on the couch while Sanchez performed some unknown biomaterial manipulations.  
\- The hemoglobin had been reduced, - he said, squinting, and read on a long piece of paper that looked like a cash receipt. - The rest of the readings are not good either...  
Then he made Morty stand on the scale:  
\- Lack of body weight.  
Then he started checking his nerves, and when he hit his knee with a hammer, his leg jumped harder than it should, and when he tried to reach the tip of his nose with his eyes closed, he poked himself almost in the eye.  
With each new discovery, Rick got darker and darker.  
When he noticed a small noise in Morty's heart and a wheezing in his lungs, he took off his phonendoscope abruptly and snorted with an angry grin, as if he wanted to say something unpleasant, but he held on to it at the last moment and left:  
\- Get undressed.  
That's all he fucking needed!  
But he did not have the courage to disobey and obediently let examine all of himself for skin diseases - if it were still all!  
When fingers tightened in latex touched his scrotum, he wanted to fall through the ground from shame.  
\- Has the Punk fucked you yet? - Suddenly, Chemist got curious, just like he got caught in the balls, and Morty choked on the air out of surprise.  
\- N-no! - He shoved his head, blushing desperately, and got only a sceptical look back.  
\- What, not once? Nothing at all? Don't fuck with me, kid. You think I don't know him?  
\- Just, uh, just, uh... just, uh... just in a mouth, uh... a couple of times...  
How could it have been different if he had to sleep on the same couch as that head-fucking Punk?!  
A Punk who could come home at 3:00 a.m., smelling as bad as a vodka factory, and strangle him in his arms, carrying some sentimental nonsense, or go into long, colorful monologues about his past world tours, or even start harassing him like a jock who saw a titty cheerleader...  
Why does fate hate him so much?!  
\- I see, - the old man hummed, turning away from him. - That's enough for today. You can get dressed!

There is an oppressive silence hanging in the room.  
Rick kept silent for a long time, watching Morty jump awkwardly into his pants and then, drunk out of the flask, suddenly said:  
\- I don't like you.  
He could only hiccup in response to such a sudden and straightforward statement.  
\- Poor health, with unknown whereabouts, and why he was pleased to bring you? - with a frown, he covered his face with his palm. - He said we needed Morty, Morty that, Morty that... What the fuck do we need any of you?! Stupid, useless, eternally whining pieces of sh...  
\- So maybe it's better if you let me go?  
The hope that timidly raised its head at Morty was immediately trampled by Rick's stern look.  
\- Shut up, Ratty, - he grumled, waving his hand toward the exit. - Just shut up...  
They climbed out of the basement back into the lab.  
\- Do you know what that is?  
Looking at the siren fluid dripping slowly from the glass tube into the flask, Morty shook his head.  
\- I got the cleanest shit in all of Morty Town, - Chemist confessed proudly. - It's true, though an overdose can explode the liver... But it's worth it, I say! There's no rejection from the clients, but... But, you see, control of this case has been totally fucked up lately. They just find where the dust of this shit is, and that's it, everything going down! I had to go to a meeting with my client myself, and I sent Punk like a fool... I wouldn't let some... little bum catch me on fire!  
Undeserved resentment has taken a toll on the boy's soul.  
\- I'm not a bum, - he said shyly. - I've got a house...  
\- Yeah, and where?  
\- On the outskirts of Morty Town, next to an abandoned factory...  
The scientist suddenly expressed a desire to look at his home, and he did not refuse.  
Passing through the portal, they found themselves right at a huge dilapidated building, looking at the world with broken windows.  
\- Well, here we are...  
\- M-morty, that's not funny, - Rick looked around confusedly. - I don't see any residential buildings here!  
\- They've never been here. And I live right there!  
And he pointed his finger at the tiny iron-clad house.  
\- M-shock, that's... Rick's hands are down. - Don't tell me you live in a hut, okay?  
But the door has already opened inexorably to them, opening Morty's humble home.  
A mattress with holey underwear on the floor, a bucket and a single-barrel tile, that's all his wealth!  
\- I know it's... it's not much, but what else can you do when your R-rick loses all your property and housing in cards, huh? And then, uh, then, uh, he just pulls out a gun and shoots himself in the forehead, spraying his brains all over it, huh-huh...  
As always, with these memories, Morty's eye started to twitch a little.  
\- Y-yeah, I wasn't picked by any of the Ricks at school, and I-I had a rough time, but who cares? The main thing is, I'm alive...  
The Chemist obviously didn't listen to his optimistic speeches, culturally shocked to see the iron wagon.  
\- And this is where you lived?  
\- Y-yes...  
\- Seriously?!  
\- Seriously...  
Chemist's cheekbones were chewed up and he squeezed himself massaging his eyeballs with his fingers.  
\- Well, Punk, - he whispered, closing the door and pulling the boy away from his hut. - I'll gonna get you later...  
And in his long fingers suddenly appeared some black ball the size of a golf ball.  
In a swing, he threw it on the roof of the hut, and suddenly the ground shuddered...  
When Morty opened his mouth, he watched his house burn down.  
\- Y-you... are y-you fucked up?! This was my home!!!  
\- Not anymore, - said Chemist, grabbing it under his elbow. - Well, don't be hysterical, let's get out of here...  
And they're back in the habitation of two sexually disturbed psychos.  
\- Now, dog, _this_ is your home!  
And when he turned his back, he made a careless gesture, patting Morty's head.  
\- Don't gonna be picky in here, you little piece of shit...


	3. Drugs, idiots and Chemister

It's rare that life has ever seemed so shitty to Rick. It was like he was sitting on the faience throne of a piece of intergalactic trash...  
He took a large sip of vodka and waved with discontent at the sound of voices in the living room.  
Is Punk telling his stories again?  
That's how it turned out - briskly waving his hands, a neighbor told another story full of colorful details of his life, and the little one, what a fool, listening to the frozen with his mouth open, and only tied hair in the tail, even more reminiscent of the rat origin of the owner, slightly wobbled ...

After snorting angrily, the Chemist returned to his work - and vodka, pleasantly fogging the mind.  
Maybe it's time to get that Punk out. They're not bound by anything, so they're paid together for the house and sometimes fucked for the joy, without hating commitments and sentimental. It's like a complicated version of jerking off with a lot of narcissism, after all, no one in the whole universe loved and hated Ricks as much as themselves...  
But more and more Chemist caught himself thinking that this partnership frankly pisses him off, and the big fight after which Punk moved to sleep on the sofa, only strengthened his opinion.  
Punk is nothing but dumb. A lazy ass waiting for someone to solve all his problems for him, a genius who doesn't want to use his brains for something clever, Rick, who has put fun above everything else in his life...  
And that bastard!

Rick didn't want any unnecessary problems, especially with the little assholes in yellow, and when his Morty from native reality was eaten by a giant ferocious flycatcher, he solved everything for himself.  
Picked up a bitten finger from the ground, the only thing the flycatcher bitch left him. Restored the rest of his body from that material, loaded up the Morty Clone's basic package of memories, sent him out to dinner and do his homework, and sat on a ship and fucked himself away so he'd never come back.  
He doesn't want any Morty! Caring about them, making sure someone doesn't kill them, he's got nothing to do, right?  
\- Hey, Punk, w-what are you...  
The nature of the sounds behind the door have changed.  
It's a familiar sight - the jerk started acting like an alpha male again, kissing the little guy, and Morty, though he didn't kiss much, still looked embarrassed and clearly didn't know what to do with those signs of attention.

Sanchez walked through his lab in broad steps, scattered between his fingers spinning a vial of thick, dark fluid inside.  
It wasn't jealousy, but he was glad to know that his misguided neighbor hadn't yet had time to fuck with Ratty.  
If it did happen one day, the Chemist would certainly like to be there. He'd love to see a lousy child take a huge dick in his shaggy, narrow...  
Having put the label on the bubble, he clicked the ballpoint pen and, sticking out the tip of his tongue, waving it out: "For the heart. The prototype."  
Then he put it on the shelf and started to do much more important things - making drugs.  
With his head immersed in the work, he himself did not notice how time was flying, and shuddered with surprise, hearing the creak of the door.  
\- What do you want?! - He barked, and Morty almost dropped the tray, shrieking.  
\- I'm sorry, - he said, with his head down, and he managed to place the tray carefully between all the tight standing flasks. - Y-You just sit there all day, and-and I thought you might be hungry...  
\- You didn't think it right, - he squinted. - I'm in full swing, and you only prevented me from coming!  
And when he saw Morty pulling his paws to the tray, the old man raised his voice again:  
\- No fucking way, leave it where it is if you bring it!  
What a dumb fuck.  
Morty isn't an athlete, to put it mildly, but it hurts to look at this one, arms and legs - that matches, a T-shirt hanging on a skinny body, huge green eyes on his face shining suspiciously...  
That's fucking disgusting!  
\- All right, baby, you ready yet?  
Seeing the guitar case behind Punk's back, the Chemist got suspiciously tense.  
\- Where the fuck are you going?  
\- Nothing, - the other Rick waved carelessly. - We're gonna sing outside, take a walk, get some ice cream... Right, M-morty?  
The puppy look that the boy immediately gave to the neighbor made him sick.  
\- Halt, - the Chemist left, drinking from the flask. - The little fucker's not going anywhere.  
\- But why not?! - They exclaimed to the choir with the look of him as if he were going to cut out his kidney.  
\- I-I-I remembered that I need help urgently, - the scientist coughed. - I can't do it alone, so, Punk, you sing on your own street...  
The neighbor still tried to argue, but when he stumbled upon the wall of icy obstinacy, he preferred to save.  
That's how he and Ratty was left alone.  
\- Hand me the flask, Morty.  
He was obediently doing all his errands, but he looked very upset, which was exactly what was annoying.  
\- Ugh, - Rick broke the silence eventually, twisting the gas burner flame to the right height. - Y-you think... you think he'd buy you a fucking ice cream? Y-yeah, he'd have to go through a beaten hour before he got enough change, and I...  
Out of vodka. After swinging the bottle, Rick sadly put the last of the bottom drops in his mouth.  
\- I could've fed you that ice cream, even to your stomach pain, - he threw the empty container under the table at the next bottle. - B-but I wouldn't... Because you don't deserve it.   
What a dammit untouchable princess.  
And he's quiet, trying to pretend he doesn't care, but that nervous tic in the form of a twitch in the eye was giving him away with his head.  
Yeah, that asshole still need treats and heals, and Punk's not gonna do it, he's got all the problems on him, and he's having only fun!  
\- Hey, M-morty.  
Rick leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, couldn't hold a nasty grin.  
\- Why don't you give me a little handjob, huh?


End file.
